Look, I know what you’re thinking. “Kristin, why the hell would anyone buy a car nude?” And to that, I say, have you met me?

Let me back up.

I’ve always been a Subaru girl. Born and bred in the soggy pine-scented bosom of the Pacific Northwest, where everyone wears flannel and pretends they enjoy hiking, I’ve owned three Outbacks and a Forester. My very first car was a Honda Civic that coughed like a smoker every time I turned left, but once I hit adulthood and got a big-girl job and could afford an upgrade, it was Subaru life forever. Until recently.

My last Outback, a 2016, olive green, still had a dent in the back bumper from when Susan Hasseltree tried to parallel park after one too many hard ciders at a “clothing optional” pumpkin carving party. The car smelled faintly of wet dog and kale chips, thanks to a four-year stint where I thought I was going to be a dog rescuer and a vegan influencer. (Spoiler: I’m allergic to both fur and soy.) It had over 160,000 miles, the glove compartment no longer shut all the way, and the Bluetooth only worked if I whispered sweet nothings to it while holding my phone up to the passenger side visor.

I needed something new. Something adult. Something that didn’t rattle when I drove over 40 miles an hour. Something with heated seats and a backup camera that didn’t look like a potato filmed it. But here’s the kicker: I wanted to buy it nude.

Now, I know I can’t just sashay into a Lexus dealership in my birthday suit and start licking door handles. I mean, technically I can, but then we’re involving local law enforcement and I already have a complicated enough relationship with Officer Brenner from the Issaquah precinct. But shopping from home? That’s a whole other story. Thank you, internet gods and virtual sales appointments.

So, I did what any self-respecting nudist with a patchy Wi-Fi connection and a dream would do—I made a list of luxury SUVs I wanted to try out and got to work. My top four? The Volvo XC60, BMW X5, Lexus GX550, and the Acura MDX. All-wheel drive was non-negotiable, because I live in a place where it can snow, rain, hail, and be sunny all in the same hour. I also wanted something that made me feel like a hot suburban badass who listens to NPR but could also off-road to a secret naked beach if the moment struck.

This book is the story of how I got there—bare buns, test drives, weird Zoom calls, one very confused delivery driver, and all. It’s got stories, tips, unfiltered honesty, and maybe a few moments where my friends show up to either help or absolutely derail everything. Spoiler: it’s usually the latter.

So strip down, pour a glass of wine or kombucha or lukewarm coffee you forgot about two hours ago, and let’s get into it. Buying a car doesn’t have to be painful, and it sure as hell doesn’t have to involve pants.